


Ins and Outs

by misbegotten



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: The Night Before the Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Aziraphale and Crowley come up with a plan. And there is snogging.





	Ins and Outs

It had been six hours since the Armageddon That Wasn't. Aziraphale and Crowley had been drinking for a little more than two of them.

Aziraphale had given a small sigh at the threshold of Crowley's door. Not, mind you, because he objected to staying at Crowley's flat. He had been to Crowley's flat before and felt quite comfortable in it, as it was very Crowley -- all sharp contrasts, unexpected depths, and Drama with a capital D. No, the wistful sigh was a lament at the thought of his burned bookshop. So many lovely first editions gone up in flame. It pained him on a spiritual level, as much as an angel might let himself admit to an attachment to such earthly matter.

No doubt sensing his mood, Crowley had put a hand at Aziraphale's elbow and nudged him into the flat. "Right," he'd said with some degree of forced cheer. "More wine?"

Wine had been a good choice. Aziraphale, who had gone well beyond savoring each sip, sat curled on the end of Crowley's sofa. In the room beyond he could spy occasional glimpses of Crowley's verdant plant collection, the leaves of which seemed to be leaning out rather timidly for a peek at the angel. Crowley was stretched out on the rest of the sofa, his feet stopping just short of Aziraphale's curled legs, and his back was to the plant room. When Crowley wasn't looking, Aziraphale gave the plants a cheerful wave.

Crowley abruptly moved the hand holding his wine glass for emphasis. "I'm going to miss that bloody car," he said mournfully, wine sloshing dangerously close to the upholstery. 

Aziraphale patted Crowley's feet consolingly. "I know, my dear." As Crowley had proclaimed this fact roughly every quarter of an hour since they started drinking, Aziraphale had done a lot of patting. "I do rather think that we must concentrate on the future, however."

It took a great deal of effort to put those words in the right order. Not only was Crowley's wine making Aziraphale tiddly, but a good portion of his remaining faculties were busy worrying at the meaning of Agnes Nutter's final prophecy. 

_When all is said and all is done, you must choose your faces wisely._

"Do you think, perhaps, that we will be... recalled?" he asked tentatively.

"I suppose." Crowley took a deep gulp of his wine. "Honestly, I'd rather be smited." He frowned. "Smote." He frowned again. "Smitten?" He barreled on. "Hell is so boring. I like it here. I like art and mobiles and clothes and espresso." He put his glass on the floor and used the hand that had been gesturing to tip his sunglasses down. "I like it here with you," he said quite seriously to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale shot him a fond look. "I like it here with you too," he replied.

Crowley continued to gaze at him, his eyes burning with more than their usual intensity. "It's not just that, angel." Crowley swallowed. "I like _you_."

Aziraphale, intending to pat Crowley's feet again, missed rather spectacularly and nearly toppled into Crowley. He ended up somewhere around Crowley's knees as a result, and splashed the remaining contents of his glass on Crowley's sofa.

"Oh dear," he said. "That will stain." He put his now empty glass on the floor as well, and tried rather fruitlessly to right himself. "I'll just clean that up and--"

"Fuck the sofa," Crowley said intently. He reached down and with some degree of strength hauled Aziraphale up the length of the couch, until Aziraphale was splayed across his own form and they were face to face. "Angel," he said somewhat desperately. "When I thought you'd gone, when I thought they'd killed you..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Aziraphale asked tentatively. Shifting, he reached out and removed Crowley's glasses completely. As he did, his thumb brushed the curve of Crowley's cheek.

Crowley leaned into the slight caress. He closed his eyes, and Aziraphale suddenly felt bereft without that golden gaze meeting his own. It was remarkable, really, Aziraphale thought. After six thousand years, Aziraphale knew Crowley's face better than his own. The unruly hair, the piercing eyes, the rather startling cheekbones, the way Crowley's lips smirked and laughed and rolled slightly too long over the letter S. Crowley's face was, indeed, beloved to him. Aziraphale marveled at the revelation.

_Choose your faces wisely._

"Crowley!" he said suddenly, struck with divine -- no, not that -- with some sort of inspiration. "Agnes' last prophecy! I know what we must do!"

Crowley looked a bit befuddled. Perhaps it was because, in the midst of his excitement, Aziraphale had pressed closer to Crowley and their... er... _bits_ were in rather close proximity now. Perhaps it was because, in the midst of even more excitement as the puzzle pieces slotted into place in Aziraphale's head, Aziraphale reached out, put both his hands round Crowley's face, and pulled him in for a gleeful kiss.

It was barely a second, really. Or rather, that's what Aziraphale intended. He did not expect Crowley's arms to move up his back and pull Aziraphale even closer. He certainly did not expect Crowley to pin Aziraphale in place, bend his head, and press his lips again to Aziraphale's. He did not expect -- not at all -- for Crowley's tongue to lick gently inside his mouth. 

He did not expect to find himself kissing back.

Seconds passed like hours. Minutes passed like millennia. Crowley shifted, letting his legs twine with Aziraphale's and his arms press harder and -- oh goodness, Aziraphale thought giddily -- allowing Aziraphale to feel the want that seemed to envelop Aziraphale like a tangible thing. It was a cloud of desire and happiness and something quite tender.

"Crowley," Aziraphale asked, finally finding his voice again. "When you said in the pub that you'd lost your best friend, did you mean me?"

Crowley tightened his embrace. If Aziraphale had had to breathe, which of course he didn't, it might have been uncomfortable.

"You daft angel," Crowley replied. He leaned in and put his lips at Aziraphale's ear. "Of course I meant you," he whispered.

"So," Aziraphale continued doggedly, trying to ignore the inconvenient stirrings of their corporeal forms as they continued to melt into each other. "You kissed me because I'm your best friend?"

"Did that feel like a kiss from a friend?" Crowley asked, with a touch of impatience. 

"It felt more like... _more_ ," Aziraphale allowed.

Crowley's mouth was still at Aziraphale's ear. Or at least it was, until Crowley began to nuzzle gently down the side of Aziraphale's cheek. "Did you like it?"

"I--" It was a sin to lie, Aziraphale reminded himself. "Yes, I did."

Aziraphale could feel Crowley's smile against his skin. "What were you saying, angel? About the prophecy?"

With a great deal of effort, Aziraphale scrambled to regain his train of thought. This was made more difficult by the fact that Crawley had begun to move his legs, pulling Aziraphale into the depths of the yielding sofa cushions.

"The prophecy," Aziraphale said. Without his voice breaking, he was pleased to note. "When all is said and all is done, you must choose your faces wisely."

"And?" Crowley asked. His hands were tracing slow circles on Aziraphale's back, rubbing slightly harder at the spot where Aziraphale's wings would attach were he wearing them at the moment.

"And--" Aziraphale said with determination, "And this!"

He closed his eyes and just let himself fall. Fall more deeply into Crowley's embrace. Fall until there was nothing left between him and Crowley than their respective auras. Let himself keep falling until he could no longer tell where Crowley ended and Aziraphale began and...

"Well," Crowley said with surprise. "That's new."

Aziraphale felt _different_. He felt lankier. He felt sharp where he was normally round, and he smelled slightly of sulfur and spice where normally there was tweed and the barest hint of Grace. He felt... well, he felt a little bit _wicked_.

"So you're me now?" Crowley asked curiously.

Yes, that was it! Aziraphale felt his tongue trying to escape the confines of his new mouth, and he let it do as it wished. To his surprise, he hissed slightly. "Yesss," he said. Then, clearing his throat and concentrating, he grinned. "Yes," he said again, this time with his sibilants under control. "And you must be me!"

Crowley looked puzzled for a moment, then grinned too. Wolfishly. No, Aziraphale corrected himself. Snakily.

Crowley sat up, nearly dumping Aziraphale on the floor. He closed his beautiful eyes for a second and then, with a slight ripple of the air, he changed. Aziraphale found himself looking at himself.

"You did that rather easily," he said suspiciously.

Crowley as Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders eloquently. "I am a demon, after all. I'm more fluid than you."

"Yes, but--"

"Angel," Crowley said firmly. "I've been observing you for six thousand years. You don't think I know every inch of you?"

"Well, not _every_ inch," Aziraphale said.

Crowley arched an eyebrow. It was a trick that Aziraphale had never mastered himself, and it looked rather out of place on his own face. 

Aziraphale flushed. Or rather, he tried to. His Crowley-shaped body seemed incapable of doing it properly, though. With a great deal of determination, Aziraphale extricated himself from Crowley's grasp and slithered -- oh, that came rather easily! -- to the floor. 

"This is what we must do," Aziraphale said brightly. "You be me, and I'll be you. And when they come to find us, to destroy us--" The thought pained him greatly. "--They'll have it the wrong way round!"

Crowley sat up from the sofa and swung his feet to the ground. "Right," he said. He held out a hand and helped Aziraphale from the floor. "I didn't know you had it in you, angel. It's a plan worthy of... well, it's a plan worthy of _me_."

"How appropriate," Aziraphale said with satisfaction.

They regarded each other for a long moment. Then Aziraphale watched himself, or rather Crowley as himself, walk around the room. It was a strange phenomenon, but then again it had been a day of strange phenomenon. Watching Crowley play Aziraphale was far more reassuring than sharing time in Madame Tracy's body, for example.

"So how do I look?" Crowley asked over his shoulder. He crossed the room and returned, a rather smug smile on his lips. 

"The smugness will have to go," Aziraphale said critically. Crowley stuck his tongue out at Aziraphale, then frowned and stuck it out again. 

"That doesn't feel right," Crowley complained. "Not slithery enough."

"I'm not meant to be slithery," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Fair enough," Crowley agreed. He straightened his jacket and then presented himself again to Aziraphale for inspection. "But other than that?"

"I do believe that you make a very good me," Aziraphale allowed. "Do I?" he began tentatively. "Er... do I always look that round?"

Crowley patted his hands down his -- Aziraphale's, rather -- body. "It suits you," he said. He regarded Aziraphale and twirled his fingers. "Now you do me."

Aziraphale, rather self-consciously, paced around the room.

"Nah," Crowley complained before Aziraphale had completed his circuit. "You've got to be confident. Be comfortable in your skin. Stride, don't just walk." 

Aziraphale stopped, trying to process Crowley's instructions, and then started moving again. A little more as he imagined Crowley moved.

"Hmm," Crowley said thoughtfully. "Put more pelvis into it."

"What?" Aziraphale squeaked. He tried flushing again, but it was a no go.

Crowley moved behind him and put his hands firmly on Aziraphale's hips. "You've got to move with--" He pulled Aziraphale flush with his own body, plastering his front to Aziraphale's arse. "Flash," he finished.

Crowley's voice was at Aziraphale's ear again. Aziraphale gave a slight shiver, and Crowley clamped him more tightly. "That's it," he said encouragingly. "Move with me." He urged Aziraphale forward, and together they oozed about the room. "That's better," Crowley whispered. "It's like dancing."

"You know I don't dance," Aziraphale said guiltily, thinking of the much-missed gavotte.

"Well I do," Crowley said firmly, his hands still at Aziraphale's hips. "Move like this."

'Like this' proved to be scandalously close to a tango, Aziraphale thought. When they finally stopped next to the couch, Aziraphale found that he was breathing heavily.

"Do you breathe more than I do?" he asked faintly.

Crowley, still behind him, chuckled gently. "When the occasion calls for it." He turned Aziraphale to face him, and Aziraphale saw something flash in Crowley's -- in his -- oh bother, this was confusing -- in Crowley's eyes.

"Change back," Crowley said softly. At Aziraphale's questioning look, he put a finger at Aziraphale's chin and tipped Aziraphale's face towards his own. "Change back because I want to do _this_ in the proper form."

And then they were kissing again. Oh, were they kissing. Aziraphale felt himself melt into Crowley's embrace and he closed his eyes and. Just. Let. Go.

"That's better," Crowley as Crowley said when Aziraphale had opened his eyes again. "I'm not enough of a narcissist that I want to do this with myself."

Aziraphale snorted, but in the meantime found that his Aziraphale-shaped arms had -- quite of their own accord -- fallen easily around Crowley. 

"Crowley," he said gently. "Do you have something you'd like to tell me?"

"Angel," Crowley replied. "I've been telling you for many, many years."

Aziraphale cast his mind back. "The books," Aziraphale said thoughtfully. "The books you saved from the Nazis."

Crowley dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Well before that, though," he admitted. "It's just that when I found your shop burning and I knew you were gone--"

"You knew I was gone?" Aziraphale asked, surprised.

"I knew," Crowley said firmly. "I felt it."

"Felt what?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley closed his eyes, obviously pained. "Felt the Aziraphale-shaped absence in the world."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed. "Oh, my dear. I never imagined--"

"Angel," Crowley said fiercely, opening his eyes again and fixing Aziraphale with a fiery stare. "I don't want to be here without you."

Aziraphale let his hand move up to cup the back of Crowley's neck. "Nor I without you," he agreed.

They kissed again. They kissed rather messily, quite fervently, even enthusiastically, until they were well into snogging territory and Aziraphale felt a stirring in his corporeal loins that he'd never experienced before.

"Crowley, my dear," he said, as Crowley moved his lips from Aziraphale's and began to trace a rather insistent line down Aziraphale's neck. "I think that in order to pull this charade of ours off, I need to really get to know you."

"You know me," Crowley murmured, nipping at Aziraphale's jaw. "You know me better than anyone."

Aziraphale started to raise his eyes heavenward, then thought better of it. "Know you _physically_ , I mean. Know all the ins and outs of you."

"To better act as me, you mean," Crowley said, smiling. He began to work rather efficiently at Aziraphale's buttons.

"Exactly," Aziraphale agreed. Rather shakily, because the activities in which they were indulging seemed to require breathing simply so Crowley could, through Aziraphale's sighs of pleasure, know when he had hit a particularly good spot.

Come to think of it, they were all good spots. But some, Aziraphale was finding, were even better than others. All this sighing was making Aziraphale quite light headed.

"Angel," Crowley said between kisses. "I would be glad to give you the grand tour of my ins and outs."

Aziraphale smiled. "I rather think I have something I've been meaning to tell you, too."

"Shhh," Crowly said. "Lesss talking." 

Aziraphale wasn't sure which one of them miracled them to the bedroom. He did, as it turned out, get a thorough exploration of Crowley's ins and outs. 

And if, somewhere in the dark, he might have said something extraordinary, something heartfelt, something quite true... and Crowley might have said the same... 

Well, it had been an extraordinary day after all.


End file.
